


Then the Morning Comes

by fleurofthecourt



Category: White Collar
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s04e10 Vested Interest, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Multi, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-24
Updated: 2012-10-24
Packaged: 2017-11-16 22:23:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/544500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurofthecourt/pseuds/fleurofthecourt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal brings Peter soup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Then the Morning Comes

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for Vested Interest.

Sam…Neal’s father…everything still didn’t exactly sit right with him. He turned it all over in his mind a few more times. It was really all he’d done since he’d left the office, and it was giving him a rather serious headache.

Peter looked down at his phone hopefully. But, alas, there was still no word from Neal. He supposed that wasn’t unexpected after the guy found out his dad, who presumably had all the answers, was right there in front of him. However, Peter was still disappointed.

He found El curled on the couch with a novel and told her he was turning in early.

“Peter, he’s going to tell you all about this. Don’t worry,” El said after carefully reading his expression. He wasn’t exactly sure how he’d accomplished this, but El had told him once that he had careworn worry lines that were always just for Neal. Perhaps it was because he rarely worried about anything else. Clearly, she was seeing them now.

“It’s not just that I want him to tell me about it, though I do. I want to know that Sam isn’t …I don’t know…” Peter really had no idea what exactly he was worried about as it was a sort of an intangible, illogical jealousy of the man. He wasn’t Neal’s father, and furthermore, he had no desire to be. But he had always thought of himself as a good role model for Neal. And he was more than a little concerned that Sam wasn’t. Finally, although it wasn’t entirely the truth, he settled on, “I’m just worried he’s not who Neal hopes that he is.”

“I hardly think that Neal is going to discover that in one evening. Don’t worry. And go to bed so you’re well rested for bowling tomorrow. You look exhausted,” El said as she stood up to kiss him goodnight. “Still ready?”

Peter nodded under the kiss, grateful for the distraction. He loved El’s enthusiasm and competitive spirit, but bowling with acquaintances would never be his cup of tea. Rubbing at his temple, he groggily climbed the stairs, and after a brief reflection that he was being ridiculous, he checked his phone one last time before climbing into bed. Still nothing.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, exactly. Perhaps an invitation to really meet this man, this man who had shaped so much of who Neal was, or really, who Neal had been, without even trying. Or maybe he just wanted to know that Neal was taking everything Sam said with a grain of salt. He’d started trusting Sam too early and too easily already, in his opinion.

Realizing that there was really nothing he could do at the moment, he wrapped the covers around him and went to sleep.

He woke up the next morning with a completely different set of concerns. The headache that he hoped would dissipate had become worse, and it was now accompanied by a scratchy throat and general malaise. He distantly remembered that he was supposed to go bowling in a few hours, and the mere thought made him cringe.

He heard shower water running, and as the sound washed over him, he drifted back to sleep. Some time later, a cool hand was pressed against his forehead, and he raised half lidded eyes to El.

“You really wanted to get out of bowling didn’t you?” El teased.

“You caught me,” Peter rasped, trying his best to look apologetic, instead of secretly pleased.

“Do you want me to stay home?” El asked. Peter saw that she was completely dressed and that she’d already pulled her bowling ball out of the closet and set it by the door. Although he certainly wouldn’t mind not being alone, he imagined he would spend most of the day sleeping.

“No, hon. You go have fun. You’ve been looking forward to this for ages,” Peter said. “I’m not keeping you from it.”

“How am I going to win without you though?” El asked, as she gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I don’t have a teammate.” 

“Have you ever needed one?” Peter asked, dazedly. He realized as he said it that while it was meant to be a compliment, it may have also hinted at his true feelings. Therefore, he made a suggestion he thought he would most likely regret, “You could ask Neal.”

“And ruin his father-son bonding time?” El asked, giving Peter a skeptic look. Peter’s thoughts clouded for a moment as he remembered the revelations and his concerns from the night before.

“Mozzie?” Peter supplied, finally. Although El seemed to have already confirmed it, Peter decided that this was how he knew he had a fever. If he wasn’t outright delirious.

“I’ll call him,” El agreed, looking bemused by the suggestion. “Mozzie bowling. That’s something that I want to see.”

Before El ran out the door to meet an amenable Mozzie, she brought tissues, water, and cold & flu medicine up to him and insisted that he call her if he needed anything. After that, he tuned the radio on his alarm clock to a baseball game, which he then tuned in and out of, he thought without ever fully falling asleep.

Therefore, he was surprised when a light hand on his shoulder jolted him awake. He blinked blearily for a moment, thinking that maybe he really was delirious, because the other choice was that Neal was sitting on his bed right next to him. Or maybe it wasn’t Neal. He didn’t have his fedora, and he wasn’t even wearing a suit. Peter shook his head at the absurdity that his subconscious always gave Neal over to the Rat Pack even though he’d seen Neal in everything from a naval officer’s uniform to next to nothing.

“Peter?” Neal asked, concern laced in his voice. “Mozzie called to tell me he was going bowling with El because you were sick.”

“Mozzie wanted you to check up on me?” Peter asked, incredulous. He wasn’t sure he’d understand that if his thoughts were completely coherent.

“He may not have said so in so many words. But his concern seems fairly valid to me. You’re looking at me like you’re not sure I’m here,” Neal said, pressing his hand into Peter’s shoulder.

“I think you shouldn’t be… Did you break in?” Peter asked becoming suspicious as his thoughts became mildly less foggy. Neal didn’t have a key, after all.

“Maybe,” Neal said, looking sheepish. “I brought you soup though, if that helps.”

Peter thought about telling him that it didn’t because this was where Neal always went wrong. Even when, or perhaps especially when, he had the best of intentions, he still thought it was okay to break the law. However, he knew that Neal would never betray his trust enough to break into his house unless it was for a good reason. What Neal would qualify as a good reason worried him, but now was not the time to dwell on that. Instead he asked, “Homemade?”

“Chicken noodle,” Neal nodded. “I thought I’d avoid testing your questionable palate.”

“I’ve eaten French take out with you before; it’s not that bad,” Peter replied.

“Yeah, but you could live off of deviled ham, and that’s just not right,” Neal said, shaking his head. Then he pointed to the bedside table where small tendrils of steam were still rising from an earthenware bowl. “I’d take a fever reducer with that if I were you.”

“Probably not a bad idea. Can you get them for me? They’d be in the cabinet in the bathroom,” Peter said. Neal handed him two tablets of Tylenol before he even finished his thought; evidently, he’d brought them with him. “Thanks. Now you didn’t really just come over here to bring me soup?”

“I could have. I do actually care about your well being,” Neal replied defensively as he handed Peter the soup. Although Peter had privately hoped that really was all of Neal’s motivation, he gave Neal a skeptic look. Or as skeptic as he could manage while his eyes were glassy. “But you’re right. I wanted to talk to you about Sam.”

“You’re not calling him Dad yet?” Peter asked, grinning, as he swallowed a mouthful of soup.

In response Neal gave him a long suffering look. Then, after a minute, he said, “You know as well as I do that I still don’t have all the answers. But I think it would help if you met with Sam with me.”

“And Sam didn’t plan on pulling a disappearing act on either of us?” Peter supplied.

“Exactly,” Neal nodded. “Though, obviously, it’s a meeting that will have to wait.”

“And this was a conversation we needed to have in person?” Peter asked as he stirred the soup around aimlessly. He felt bad because after about three bites, he’d determined that he wasn’t really hungry.

“Perhaps not,” Neal said. “Maybe I really did just bring you soup to bring you soup.”


End file.
